Short Lesson in Fraud, Freud, and Survivor's Guilt
by White Star 2
Summary: Aboard an alien ship, Mulder learns several kinds of truth.


Title: A Short Lesson in Fraud, Freud, and Survivor's Guilt  
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)  
Rating: PG  
Classification: SA  
Distribution: Just ask me.  
Spoilers: Requiem  
Keywords:  
  
Summary: Aboard an alien ship, Mulder learns several kinds of   
truth.  
  
Disclaimer: As everyone knows, Chris Carter own everything,   
including the characters which I'm about to borrow. But don't   
worry, it doesn't affect the timeline and none of them will   
remember a thing by tomorrow.  
  
Author's Notes: Thanks to Aris, as usual for helping with   
everything.  
  
* * *  
  
At first there was silence. Real silence, like he'd never   
experienced before. It was so quiet he could hear his heart   
beating. He didn't know how long the silence lasted. Hours.   
Days. Weeks. Maybe even months. Seemed like years to him. It was   
then that he learned the meaning of deafening silence. And   
still, breaking it was worse than bearing it.  
  
He didn't understand. He'd sleep on the floor of the cell, and   
spend the rest of his time lying around. He didn't eat or drink.   
His throat was dry and his stomach growled occasionally, but he   
didn't feel dehydrated or weak.  
  
The silence ended with the opening of a door in a place where he   
didn't expect a door to be. Bodies in big astronaut-like suits   
came in and grabbed him by the arms. There was a sting in his   
neck, and he blacked out.  
  
When he woke up there was silence again and his whole body   
ached. Then it happened again. And again. He'd lost count of how   
many times. Sleep turned into moments of unconsciousness, a   
means of escaping the pain. His waking moments were spent   
tossing and turning on the metal floor, trying to find a   
comfortable position. Trying not to go mad.  
  
Just when he became convinced he was going to lose his mind, the   
door opened. It wasn't the men in suits. It wasn't a man, at   
all. But she was human, or at least seemed that way. "Good   
afternoon," she said.  
  
"Is it afternoon?" he tried to say. It came out strange. Rusty,   
almost.  
  
"In a few timezones," she replied with a smile. After a short   
pause, she continued. "I'm going to be your contact with them,   
so I need to verify some things."  
  
"Who's 'them'?"  
  
"The aliens," she said. "You're Fox Mulder?" He nodded. "The UFO   
chaser?" He nodded again. "We've heard about you. Even up here."  
  
"Up... here?" Logically, he knew he wasn't on earth. His mind   
just hadn't had the time to process it yet. She shrugged.  
  
"Born October 13th, '61? Parents William and Teena?" He nodded   
the affirmative to both. "Good." She ran her pale fingers   
through short, black hair. "This saves me a lot of digging   
through the bureaucracy."  
  
She left and came back later with a tray of food. She leaned   
against the wall while he ate. It took him a few minutes to stop   
and realize he was eating like a pig. 'Like a dog' was probably   
more accurate, on his knees in front of the tray.  
  
"Are there any other humans here?" he asked.  
  
She nodded. "Several."  
  
"Billy Miles? Theresa Hosey?" She nodded. "Was my sister one of   
them?"  
  
"No, she wasn't one of them."  
  
She took the tray when he was finished and came back with food   
in what soon started to seem like regular intervals. Once in a   
while they'd chat about anything that came to mind. Her   
knowledge of anything on Earth was vague at best. She could   
listen to him talk for hours. They'd talk about music, American   
culture, the X-Files.  
  
Once in a while, he'd have the chance to question her a little.   
She wouldn't give him any helpful information. No name, no age,   
no state where she was born or raised. But the things she would   
tell, made her more and more human to him. And more likable.   
  
She'd get a twinkle of nostalgia in her narrow, brown eyes. Yes,   
she had a family, once. A mother, a father, and a brother. She   
could barely remember any of them. It had to be almost thirty   
years since she'd last seen any of them. "They raised me," she   
said. "For almost as long as I can remember."  
  
"Do you know a lot about them?"  
  
She smiled. "Everything there is to know."  
  
"And you can communicate with them? How? Telepathically?"  
  
"No. They're not telepathic. I use my mouth and they use theirs.   
It's what they're made for. And I have to say that theirs is the   
hardest language I've had the chance to study."  
  
"How many have you studied?"  
  
"Quite a few. But I only speak eight of them fluently." She   
actually sounded disappointed in herself at admitting it. And   
the rest of the time was spent talking about how difficult it is   
to keep eight languages straight in one's head. The subject of   
her past didn't come up again, no matter how hard he tried.  
  
One time, after conversation had died, he raised his head up to   
her. "I'm not going back, am I?" he asked. She didn't answer. He   
shoved another piece of bread in his mouth and chewed slowly.  
  
"Do you really have what to go back for?"  
  
He swallowed and nearly choked on it. Did he? "I wasn't aware I   
had the option."  
  
She shrugged again. She had that way of dodging any question she   
didn't want to answer, be it by a shrug or just silence.  
  
"How long have I been up here?" he asked. She shrugged again. He   
asked again.  
  
"It's not important," she said and left him to eat by himself.   
He never pressed a question again after that.  
  
Three more times she came and went in silence. He was sure he   
was going to lose his mind. The next time she came in, she   
wasn't bearing the usual tray of food. "They want to see you,"   
she said simply. She put a change of clothes down on the floor   
and left. He changed into them and waited. Nothing happened.  
  
He sat against the cold metal wall and waited. He let himself   
fall asleep.  
  
When he woke up, he couldn't move. He couldn't see, either. His   
head throbbed and he felt hungry for the first time since he'd   
arrived. He couldn't feel anything, but the sounds around him   
frightened him. Drills, beeping, high pitched whines.   
  
All at once, pain from his entire body flooded his brain. Needle   
punctures, heat, cold, dull aches. He couldn't even be sure   
which came from where. He screamed. His mouth moved to form   
words, but he wasn't sure what he was saying. The only one he'd   
consciously said was, "Scully."  
  
Then he passed out.  
  
He opened his eyes again and found that he was tied down. He was   
surrounded by masks he couldn't make out the face behind. And   
one familiar, smiling face. "What's going on?" he asked her.  
  
"You're going back," she said. "They just need to make sure you   
don't remember anything."  
  
"But..." he began to protest. "My proof that it happened..."  
  
"You'll find your proof," she said. "One way or another. But not   
like this. They can't allow it." He didn't know what to say. "I   
know you won't remember this," she said, "Not now at least, but   
be careful. You're walking a fine line. You wave your gun around   
as carelessly now as you did your father's on the night you lost   
your sister. And you're losing aim of your real goal - to find   
her."  
  
"But she's dead."  
  
"Only if you believe she is. It's easier for you. You don't feel   
as guilty." Every moment he'd spent with her, he'd felt she had   
a special insight into his soul. He was almost sure of it now.   
But something nagged in the back of his mind. "Maybe it should   
have been you. Maybe you could've stopped it. Or maybe it   
wouldn't have happened if you'd have let her watch the movie   
instead of Watergate."  
  
For a messenger of a "them" that weren't telepathic, she knew   
too much about him. Too much about what had happened. And he   
could find only one explanation for it. "How could you know what   
happened that night?" He questioned, determined to get some   
answers before he left. "The only other person in the room with   
me that night was--"  
  
"Yes," she cut him off, then turned her back.  
  
One of the suited forms dripped liquid into his eyes and   
blackness descended over him.  
  
--- 


End file.
